


Roads Diverged

by mk_tortie



Category: Ballet Shoes - Noel Streatfeild
Genre: Gen, Misses Clause Challenge, Post-Canon, Sisters, Time Jump AU, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 19:36:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5468441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mk_tortie/pseuds/mk_tortie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would you do, if you could go back in time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roads Diverged

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kwritten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwritten/gifts).



> Thanks to Beatrice_Otter for the beta!
> 
> I've re-used some dialogue from the book in a couple of places, as well as borrowing ideas from _Curtain Up_ and _The Painted Garden_ as to what the sisters got up to after leaving Cromwell Road. You definitely don't need to have read those books to read this story, however.

_December 1 st, 1949_

 

Rain trickled down the windowpane, each little droplet racing the others for the bottom. Posy traced the path of one rivulet with her little finger. The sky outside was oppressively grey, a perfect match for her mood: dull and depressing. Leaning her head against the pane, she massaged her foot, and sighed. December 1st. Tomorrow was opening night for  _Swan Lake_ , and she was supposed to be dancing the role of Odette and Odile - but instead, she was stuck in her rented room, with nothing to do but watch the raindrops trickle away.

It was her foot that was the problem. Two months ago, she had tripped on a loose drain cover outside the studios on the Upper West Side where they had been rehearsing. A loose drain cover! Never in her wildest nightmares had she imagined that her career could potentially be ended by an inattention to street maintenance. She had broken a bone in her foot, leaving her stuck in hospital for a week, and stuck on crutches until just a few days ago. And, worst of all, leaving her banned from dancing until the company’s doctor approved it. 

Posy sniffed miserably. She knew what an injury like this could mean. And the worst of it was that she had no idea what to do now. 

“If only I’d written Pauline and Petrova when I was still stuck in bed,” she said aloud, woefully. The trouble was that, without Nana for company (and to remind her to write), she had become even more abysmally awful at writing letters than she had ever been before. It was just far easier to dance out her messages for her sisters, Nana, and Garnie, than to put her thoughts down on paper. Oh, she had sent telegrams - just enough that they wouldn’t worry about her, since she was, for the first time, living entirely alone. Nana had been suffering more and more from arthritis, and a winter in cold, damp New York simply wasn’t possible. Garnie had offered to come with her, but Posy was loathe to drag her away from Pauline - not when it was Pauline’s earnings that made it possible for her to join Manoff’s company in the first place. She knew how much Pauline relied on having Garnie around to ground her in all the Hollywood madness. Posy had thought she would be fine on her own.  _So much for that_ , she thought.

She gulped away the self-pitying tears that threatened to well up in her eyes, and forced herself to stand up, tensing instinctively before placing her bad foot on the ground. She could feel how weak it felt, and ached to begin stretching the muscles - but she had been told to do nothing aside from walk on it, and nothing more until the company’s doctor approved it. 

“A short, gentle, walk every day,” the doctor had ordered. “I’ll see you again in a week.”

A week was the day after tomorrow, and Posy felt her stomach sink just picturing it.  _This is the end of it all_ , she thought, morosely.  _Perhaps all I’ll ever be good for again is “short, gentle, walks”._

 She pulled on her overcoat, and headed out into the rain, trying not to limp.

 

Her favourite tea room was warm and bustling with people, many of them carrying paper bags and packages. Christmas shopping - another thing Posy hadn’t yet done. She ordered a Darjeeling, and tried to ignore the guilty feeling welling in the pit of her stomach.  _I’ll find a way to tell them what happened before they get here for Christmas_ , she told herself.  _I just don’t want them to worry about me_. 

Finding a seat by the window, to avoid having to look at the other customers, with their holiday cheer, Posy gazed out into the street, sipped her tea, and tried to pretend that the water on her face was from being out in the rain. A truck that had been parked on the other side of the road pulled out into the busy Manhattan traffic, and Posy had to stifle a sob as it revealed a large billboard, advertising  _Swan Lake_.  _If only I hadn’t been so stupid, not looking where I was going,_ she thought, regretfully, and once she had begun that train of thought, she couldn’t stop.  _If only I hadn’t wasted so much time dancing in those terrible films, if my career is already over!_ Regrets of the past, of missed opportunities, of times she hadn’t been there for her family or hadn’t allowed them to be there for her tumbled out of the depths of her brain as she finished her tea and slowly walked back towards the building she was staying in.

“If only I’d done things differently,” she whispered, as she pushed the door open, and found herself  _somewhere else._

 

— 

 

_February 22 nd, 1944_

 

“Posina, darling, there you are! We’ve been waiting for you!”

Posy started. She hadn’t been called  _that_ in years! Then she saw who had spoken, and stopped dead.  _Wait,_  she thought, confusedly.  _Where am I?_ She stared at the (somehow familiar) man in front of her, then whipped around, looking at the door she’d just come through. Instead of her apartment door, it was a heavy wooden door, with a light above it, glowing with the words “FILMING IN PROGRESS”. She turned back around slowly. 

“Hurry up, sweetheart, I want to get this done in one take!”

Posy stared at the scene in front of her. Large black cameras stood around an artificial beach, complete with brightly coloured sun umbrellas and a large picnic basket, next to which a dark-haired man and a blond woman reclined on a striped beach towel, chatting companionably. “Pauline!” she cried in surprise.

Pauline sat up and looked at her, one hand shading her eyes from the glare of the lights. “Posy?” she said. “Is everything all right? You look awfully pale.” 

Posy blinked, taking in her surroundings again. She knew where this was: the set for  _Summer Holiday_ , a film she had danced in five years ago, in an awful number involving a parasol. What she didn’t quite understand was  _how_  she was here, right now. She took a step forward, and suddenly realized, with a rush of joy, that her foot no longer hurt. “Pauline,” she said again, slowly. “Sorry. Yes. I’m quite all right. The lights just… confused me, for a moment.”

Pauline gave her an odd look, but the director - Russell, Posy thought his name had been, something Russell - hurried over.

“Someone find Posina’s parasol!” he shouted, causing an assistant to rush over, thrusting a garishly coloured parasol into Posy’s hand. “Places, please!”

Posy didn’t have time to think as he guided her into position next to Pauline and her companion. Dean? Don? Posy couldn’t remember his name. Pauline smiled at her encouragingly.  _This was the first film I danced in_ , Posy recalled.  _Pauline called in a favour. And I was in a foul mood for the entire day because I hated doing it so much._ She’d felt bad about it afterwards, even though she had never liked dancing for the camera, because Pauline had been terribly nice to her for the whole day, and she had done nothing but pout. Somehow, she’d never found the time to voice an apology, although she had danced one later.  _Maybe I can make up for that now_ , she thought,  _if I’m somehow here again_ ….

“ _Summer Holiday_ , scene 25, take 1,” the director announced. Posy hurriedly took the opening position of her dance - somehow, she still remembered  _that_ , even if she couldn’t remember the men’s names. “And… ACTION!”

The music swelled, and Posy  _danced_. After two months of not being allowed to, two months of pain and misery and frustration, the simple freedom of dancing - even such a silly dance as this one, all showy moves and no substance - filled her with joy. A smile spread across her face, and she lost herself in the movements.  _Pirouette, jeté, arabesque_ … 

“CUT!” the director called. “Posina, darling, you’re a natural for the camera.”

Pauline clapped her hands together. “See, David, I told you she would be perfect!” she said. The dark-haired man smiled at her.  _David Greenham,_ Posy remembered.  _That was his name. He sent her roses after their next film together and kept inviting her to dinner, and she couldn’t work out how to turn him down without hurting his feelings_.  _Although I suppose that hasn’t happened yet. Golly, this is odd._

The director - John Russell? No, Jim, Posy recalled - walked over to them. “We’ll take a break to set up the cameras for the close-ups,” he told them. “Ten minutes.” He turned to Posy. “Posina, darling, do it just like that for the close-ups, and I’ll be a happy man.”

Posy forced herself to smile at him, her mind still whirling. This wasn’t how it had gone the last time - it had been much more difficult. Her face had been wrong in the first take (probably because she’d been in such a bad mood), then Pauline and David had been wrong in the second, then he’d replaced her parasol with a different one and had her do three takes in quick succession… all in all, it had taken hours, and she had hated every minute. This time, he was happy with the first take.  _Am I changing the past?_ she thought.  _Am I really in the past?_ Her thoughts were cut off by Pauline, who linked her arm through Posy’s. “See, I told you it wouldn’t be so bad,” her sister told her, with exaggerated cheer.  _She still thinks I’m in a mood_ , Posy thought, and tried to give Pauline a genuine smile.  _If I can change the past, let’s change that. Pauline didn’t deserve it_. “Let’s get some water and I can explain how the close-ups work.”

“You know me,” Posy said. “If I can dance I’m happy, even if it is short little bits and pieces.”

Pauline smiled at her, and pulled her closer with an affectionate tug on her arm. 

 

Admittedly, Posy thought, as she danced for the close-ups, it was somewhat frustrating to have to stop and start again all the time. Still, it was dancing, and with the war on, it wasn’t as if she could dance anywhere else for now - not while Manoff’s company was virtually disbanded, scattered around Europe and America. Before she had somehow stepped through the door to her building and seemingly ended up five years in the past, she had thought she regretted her three years of dancing in films. Now she was back here, the only thing she found herself regretting was not making use of the opportunity to spend more time with Pauline, rather than spending all her free time practicing for the day the war ended in Manoff’s rented rehearsal studio.  _I could have just spent_  most _of my time there_ , she thought. 

After Mr Russell called “CUT!” for the final take of the day, Pauline and Posy changed and stripped off their make-up in Pauline’s dressing room. Posy glanced across at her sister, elegant in a well-cut silk dress, and remembered Pauline’s desire to act Shakespeare on the stages of London, and how she had taken the Hollywood contract to make sure that Posy could study with Manoff. She remembered, too, that Pauline had sounded lonely in her letters - and certainly Posy could never work out if the people here were sincere or not, half the time. They all acted like you were their best friend, even when they’d only met you five minutes before. 

“Do you mind it terribly, acting in films?” Posy asked her.

Pauline stopped taking off her makeup and looked back at her in surprise, unused to probing questions from her youngest sister. “Well,” she said, and Posy knew she was trying to make the best of things. “At first I found it hard. Getting a scene really  _right_  is much more difficult when you have to stop and wait every five minutes. But it’s not so bad.”

“If you could, would you go back to theatre acting?” Posy asked. “If it weren’t for the contract, I mean.”

Pauline sighed. “Yes,” she admitted. “But David’s been telling me that he had offers to make appearances on Broadway, before America joined the war. Maybe, once it’s all over, I could do both.” Pauline looked at her, a small smile on her lips. “What about you? Is it so terribly awful, dancing for a camera?”

“You know what Manoff would say, if he saw what I just did?  _A waste! Eet ees a waste of your talent, a teeeerrible waste!_ ” Pauline laughed at Posy’s impression of the great dancer. Posy dropped the act and grinned at her sister. “But it’s not so bad. I’d rather dance than not dance at all, if people want to interrupt important things by dropping bombs all over Europe.”

Pauline grinned at Posy’s flippant dismissal of the war. “I’m glad.”

Posy looked at Pauline.  _I’ll make this right, since I have this second chance_ , she thought, remembering how tense Pauline had looked the first time she had lived this day. “It’s nice, anyway,” she said seriously. “It means we can spend more time together. I missed you and Petrova in Czechoslovakia. It wasn’t the same, with just me and Nana.” She grinned. “Nana doesn’t think I’m funny like you do.”

Pauline’s face softened. “Oh, Posy,” she said, sounding half like she wanted to cry. “I missed you both terribly.” She stood up, wiping her eyes with the damp cloth she had been using to remove her makeup. “Let’s go for dinner,” she suggested. “Somewhere nice, and you can tell me all about Czechoslovakia. It’s not the same, just hearing about it in your letters.” She grinned at Posy. “They never are very long, you know.”

Posy gave her an embarrassed smile. “I’ll dance Czechoslovakia for you, and you’ll understand it exactly. Much better than trying to explain it in writing!” 

As she followed Pauline from the dressing room, Posy felt the kind of happiness fill her heart that she hadn’t felt for months.

 

—

 

_December 1 st, 1949_

 

She stepped out of the dressing room and into her apartment. “Pauline?” she said, before she realised where she was. “Oh.” She sank down into an armchair, suddenly feeling very alone. Had it all been some kind of very strange waking dream? It had felt so real…

She glanced across at the framed pictures on the small table next to the armchair, and noticed an unopened letter, lying next to them.  _Odd_ , she thought.  _I don’t remember a letter arriving that I hadn’t opened_. It had clearly arrived in the mail, since it had a stamp and a postmark - and it was addressed in Pauline’s neat handwriting.

Posy opened it carefully, and pulled out the contents: a note, and a photograph. It was the latter that caused her to breathe in sharply. The picture was of herself and Pauline, smiling at the camera at a table in a beachfront restaurant. Posy didn’t remember ever eating anywhere with Pauline like that, but Pauline wore the same silk dress as she had that day… or just now, in Posy’s recollection. She flipped open the note.

 

“Dear Posy,

I found this in the back of my dressing table today, and thought you might like to have it. What fun we had, that evening after you danced for that scene in  _Summer Holiday_! I miss you terribly and can’t wait to see you and Petrova at Christmas. Please write and tell me all about  _Swan Lake_. I’ll be holding my thumbs for you!

Yours,

Pauline”

 

Posy stared at the note. “I changed the past,” she said, disbelievingly. “How is that possible?”

She laid the note and the photograph carefully on the side table, and stared at the door. What had happened? She had walked up the stairs, opened the door, and found herself in the studio with Pauline. 

_I was thinking about it, before I opened the door_ , she realized.  _I thought about how I regretted dancing in the pictures. And then I walked through the door, and I was there_.

She stood up, and took a step towards the door.  _I thought about it, I went there, I made things better. What else do I want to fix?_ Could it possibly work again?

She looked down at her foot, once again sore and thin looking through lack of use. Closing her eyes tightly, she opened the door.

 

—

 

_October 4 th, 1949_

 

Posy felt the breeze on her face, and knew that she was no longer in her apartment building, at least. 

“What  _are_  you doing, Posy?” 

She opened her eyes, to see Emily and Marie, her two friends from the  _corps de ballet_  of Manoff’s Marmaro Ballet company. Her heart leapt.  _It worked!_ she thought, jubilantly.  _It really worked!_

“I’m just enjoying the beautiful weather,” she said, happily, skipping down the steps that lead from the rehearsal studios to the street and twirling a pirouette at the bottom. 

Marie laughed. “I told you, you are quite mad!” she said.

Posy stopped, and remembered why she was here again. She looked down at the street. There was that fateful drain cover, sticking up at an angle, just a few feet away.

“Watch out for that,” she said to her friends. “Can you imagine anything worse than an injury, just when we finally have a season of performances?”

Emily stepped purposefully on the cover, pushing it back into place. “There,” she said. “Now nobody will trip on it.”

Posy felt relief course through her, and released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Thank goodness for that,” she said, and Marie gave her an odd look. 

“You are a strange one, Posy,” Emily said.

Posy looked at her friends, and then back at the door.  _Better not risk anything else happening,_ she thought. “I’ll catch up with you later,” she said. “I’ve forgotten my wrap in the studio.” She turned and rushed back up the stairs, throwing herself through the door before her foot could injure itself some other way.

 

—

 

_December 1 st, 1949_

 

Posy slammed the door to her room behind her, and leaned against it, heart pounding more from the release of nervous tension rather than the effort of running up the stairs. She looked up, nervous that she would be inside Manoff’s studios still, rather than her own apartment, and was relieved to see the armchair and table, window (still smeared with raindrops) and unmade bed, just as she had left it. Pauline’s note and the photo still lay on the table.

Experimentally, she twisted her foot, stretching it back and forth.  _No pain,_ she thought joyfully.  _It worked!_  She let out a whoop of delight, and spun a pirouette, then marked out the first steps of the  _danse des cignes_. She had just landed from the second  _entrechat_  when the doorbell rang, making her jump.

She opened the door slowly. “Who is it?” she said, cautiously.

“Telegram, miss!” A delivery boy handed her the telegram. She opened the yellow envelope, and read it quickly. “BREAK A LEG STOP SEE YOU AT CHRISTMAS STOP LOVE PETROVA”. 

“Any reply, miss?” the boy asked. Posy looked up at him, and made a decision. “No reply,” she said. “I’ll write her a letter.”

Closing the door, she placed the telegram beside Pauline’s note, and looked back at the door, thoughtfully.

_There are a few other things I’d like to do_ , she told herself.  _Other things that need fixing, before it’s too late_.

Thinking of someone very important to her, she decisively pulled open the door, and stepped back through.

 

—

 

_March 25 th, 1935_

 

Posy stepped through the door and into a very familiar bathroom. “Well, this isn’t quite where I’d expected to be,” she said, amused, before looking down and realizing she was wearing only a towel. She heard steps below - Pauline, she could tell from the way she ran up the stairs - and suddenly realized exactly  _when_  she was.  _I’d better get in the bath_ , she thought, and jumped in. For a moment, she couldn’t help but stare down at her eleven-year-old self, and marvel at how very strange the day had been so far.  _Does it count as one day, if I’ve spent it in three different years?_  she wondered. 

Pauline came in. “The Marmaro Ballet is coming over in May, did you know?”

Posy tried to remember exactly what she had said the last time they had had this conversation. "Of course I did. Manoff is coming here for the first time since he danced here in the Diaghileff ballets before that war in 1914," she said, trying to sound like eleven-year-old Posy who had not had this conversation once before. She listened as Pauline explained her plan to buy her tickets to see Manoff dance, leaping out of the bath to hug her with as much enthusiasm as the first time she had done it. The thought of seeing Manoff dance  _Petroushka_ was exciting, no matter how many times she had now seen the great master dance. 

"I won't get the seats yet though, and only if Theo says you've been so good you couldn't be gooder," Pauline said.

"You can buy them at once quite safely, I'm certain to be an angel with a bribe like that," Posy said, and climbed out of the bath. Last time, she had made Pauline laugh with an imitation of Theo Danes. This time, however, she perched on the edge of the bath. "Pauline?" she said, as her sister turned to leave. "Could you do something else for me too?"

Pauline looked back at her. "What is it?" she asked. 

"I want to write to Madame," Posy said. "I know she's very ill - she must be, or she would have left instructions for me." Pauline looked as though she were about to say something, but Posy went on. "I want to tell her that she needn't worry about me, because I'll work hard until she's quite well again." Of course, she had only found out how bad Madame Fidolia's illness really was afterwards, the first time around, when Madame had written to her, to tell her how proud she was that Manoff had taken her as his pupil.  _Once I found out she hadn't just abandoned me, I felt awfully guilty for not writing her_ , Posy thought.  _Now I can make amends._

Pauline looked at her, wonder in her eyes. "I think Petrova had some pretty notepaper. Maybe she'll give you some," she suggested. "I'm sure Theo can help us send a letter." 

Posy wrapped herself in the towel. "Oh, Pauline," she said, wanting to see Pauline smile. "This is Theo doing "pas de chat" with her back to the class...."

 

Once Posy had dried off, she found Petrova in the nursery, working on a complicated model made of Meccano - one of her favourites, an aeroplane. Posy sat down beside her. "You're very good at those," she observed. "I shouldn't wonder if you don't get to fly one, one of these days." 

Petrova made a face. "I wish!" she said. "Can you imagine? Looking down at the clouds, rather than up at them?" 

Posy shuddered, having flown in a plane from Los Angeles to New York that summer.  _Well, that summer fourteen years from now_ , she thought, and grinned at the absurdity of it all. "I'd much rather be on the ground, thanks," she said firmly. "Can you help me write a letter? Your handwriting is much better than mine, and Pauline said you had some nice notepaper."

Petrova looked reluctant. She had been saving the notepaper sheets for a special occasion. "Who're you writing to?"

Posy looked down, still feeling a little ashamed of how she had behaved when she hadn't known how ill Madame really was.  _I was just a little girl_ , she reminded herself. "I want to write to Madame," she told Petrova. "To tell her I'm sorry she's so ill, and that she shouldn't worry about me because I'm working hard until she comes back."

Petrova looked at her sharply. "You are? I heard otherwise," she said, but not unkindly. 

Posy gave her a quick smile. "Well, I  _will_  be, now I know I can see Manoff dance."

"If you're good," Pauline added, coming into the nursery. 

Petrova sighed. "All right then. Let's write it together, from all of us."

Posy stood up and twirled around. "Thank you! I'll write her a special combination, so she knows exactly what I mean to say." She danced it out. "Pas de bourrée, capriole, jeté, fouetté..."

They wrote the letter together, Posy having to remind herself to sign her name the way she had as a child, and entrusted it to Pauline, who would give it to Theo. When Nana came and ushered her to bed, she flung her arms around her, suddenly realizing just how much she'd missed her company in New York. 

"Into bed with you!" Nana said, flustered by her exuberant display of affection. "You'll be of no use to anybody if you yawn your way through your lessons tomorrow." 

Posy slipped under the covers, and waited for Nana to leave. Then she crept from the bed and to the doorway, peering through the crack to check nobody was there. She opened the door slowly to avoid it creaking, and slipped through.

 

—

 

_December 1 st, 1949_

 

Posy slipped into her apartment and closed the door behind her carefully. She didn't know if banging the door in this time would lead to a noise in 1935, but she didn't want to risk getting her younger self into trouble - not when her future in Manoff's company was at stake!  _If Pauline hadn't got me those tickets, I might never have gone to dance for him_ , she thought, realizing properly for the first time just how much could hang on one single decision. 

_How much of what I do now comes from Pauline and Petrova and Garnie and Nana helping me along the way!_ she thought. Pauline's note, and Petrova's telegram caught her eye, and she felt ashamed, remembering how she hadn't written to them from the hospital when she had broken her foot, because she couldn't bear to think about it for herself, never mind set it down on paper as fact. 

Her hand was on the doorknob before she stopped herself. "Don't be silly," she told herself aloud. She had changed things - now her foot had not been broken! 

_Some things I don't need to regret,_  she told herself sternly.  _Because I can change them right now_. In a drawer, she found paper and a pen, sat down in the armchair, and began to write letters. 

 

_Dear Pauline,_

_Thank you for the photograph. I'm sorry I've been so useless at writing. It's much easier to say things with my feet!..._

_Dear Garnie,_

_Hello from New York! I think you'll like_ Swan Lake  _when you come at Christmas. Manoff says he thinks it's acceptable, finally, which means really that most people will think it's the best production they've ever seen..._

 

_Dear Nana,_

_I hope you are feeling better. When you come here, bring your coat from Czechslovakia, then you definitely won't feel the cold. We haven't had any snow yet but I'm still hopeful for Christmas..._  

 

_Dear Petrova,_

_Thank you for your telegram. How are the preparations for your flight going? We vowed we would get you into the history books, and now it could happen! I dance the vow on every birthday and special occasion. I'll dance it tomorrow for you before the first night of_ Swan Lake _. It would really be something for Fossil to be the name of the first woman to fly non-stop around the world! Will you fly the plane here yourself for Christmas?..._

 

She signed her name at the bottom of Petrova's letter, and folded it into an envelope. She glanced at the small clock which sat on the windowsill. 1 o'clock - still time to get to the Post Office before the evening's final dress rehearsal. She pulled open the door, thinking of their vow as she did so. Christmas would be their first chance to make the vow all together in a long, long time. 

 

—

 

_May 21 st, 1935_

 

Posy stared at Pauline and Petrova in surprise as she stepped through the door of the house on Cromwell Road.

"Posy! Where have you been?" they asked together, and Posy dropped her attaché case on the floor in surprise. Then, hearing a man's voice from upstairs in the drawing room, and seeing her sisters' worried expressions, she realized when and where she was. Somehow, she was in the past again, although she hadn't intended it. Still, she remember what she had said like it was yesterday. This day had, after all, been one of the most important days in her life. 

"He'll take me," she said, and explained how she had danced for Manoff in front of his company. As it had happened before, so it happened again: Pauline signed her contract, Posy planned her trip to Czechoslovakia, and Petrova looked rather pale. 

"What about me?" she said, and Posy felt her heart clench as she realized Petrova was trembling. 

"You'll be the one to put our name in the history books," Posy told her. 

"How will I?" Petrova said, looking puzzled. 

"Flying, of course!" Posy said. "You'll be the greatest female pilot there ever was - greater than Amelia Earhart, even." She spun in a pirouette, then danced out the steps of the vow she had been making ever since they had decided that, here on the stairs. 

Pauline's eyes lit up. "Exactly! Whoever heard of an actress or a dancer in the history books? It has to be you. Posy and I will make a new vow on our birthdays, and you can make the old one. Come here Posy, stop showing off. I'll write it down for you."

Posy shook her head. "I know it already, with my feet," she said, ignoring Pauline's confused expression. "We should vow today, right now," she added, on an impulse. They hadn't vowed on this day the last time, but now Posy knew just how important this day really was, and just how close Petrova was to fulfilling the vow. "Today is a special occasion if ever there was one."

"All right," Pauline agreed. 

They raised their hands, and Pauline repeated the vow. When she had finished, Posy said "I vow" in her silly deep voice. When she managed to stop laughing, Petrova looked at them both. "How odd," she said. "I never imagined it would be me." 

Posy danced the vow again, and grinned at the thought of all the important things Petrova was going to do. "Of course it's you, silly," she said.

Just as had happened before, Gum returned, and they introduced themselves to him. When he had gone to find Sylvia and Nana, Petrova sat back down on the stairs and looked up at Posy and Pauline. "I wonder, if other girls had to choose to be one of us, which of us they'd choose to be?"

 

—

 

_December 1 st, 1949_

After Posy had slipped away and found a door to exit through, Petrova's question rang in her head.  _If I had to choose which of us to be, would I still choose to be me?_  she thought, as she stepped back through her front door, and found the letters she had intended to post scattered on the floor. As she bent down to pick them up, her eyes rested on the tiny satin ballet shoes left to her by her mother, and her heart sang with their rightness.  _Yes_ , she knew.  _I chose the right path._

She knew one other thing was true, too, something she’d forgotten in the past few months. _No matter what happens, I can always rely on my sisters_.

**Author's Note:**

> For kwritten: Thank you so much for your wonderful letter and prompts! We matched on two fandoms - Ballet Shoes and Being Erica - and since you said you liked Time Jump AUs, I couldn't resist the idea of creating a Being Erica-style AU for Ballet Shoes, particularly for Posy, whose POV we don't really get in the original book. I really hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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